I’ve led a Life Group for about three years for our church, North Coast Church in Temecula, and last spring we had a fine addition, George and Polly White. George is an astrophysicist/mathematician/author/thinker/professor, mentored by one of my favorite writers, Robert Jastrow, and Polly, born and raised in Singapore, is an energetic natural hostess and baker and cook. You need to know that to fully get the rest of the story. Just after the Christmas celebrations, another member, Linda Vaubel, posted on our group text that she had two leftover and untouched cakes for anyone who would like them.
That gave Polly an inspiration, so…
Read MoreJerry and I planned our 2024 ride, likely our last long ride together, after more than 50 years of riding together. After meeting in Ogden, we’d head for Idaho’s mountains. My tires needed replacing, so I visited the local Honda shop, ordered tires and new 90 degree valve stems that point to the right. Sadly, when they brought it out, the stems pointed to the left side. That should have sounded a warning. But they quickly fixed it, I took it on our local freeway, up to maybe 72, and it felt smooth.
Until I passed St. George on I-15…
Read MoreNot long ago, a very good friend and solid Christian put this meme up, and it struck me…about how badly it misses the essence of following Jesus. The meme’s foundation proclaims that as far as feeding, animals and humans are the same. If we give either food, we make them dependent and they lose self-motivation. Therefore, we treat humans like we treat wild animals: we don’t feed them, we allow them to stand on own. I often hear, they made bad decisions that put them in that condition. They deserve it. But the question, especially at Christmas, does this match reality and Jesus?
Read MoreLast May one of the most boring stretches of road I’ve ever been on gave a lesson. Jerry and I left Meridian, Idaho, about 8 in the morning, fleeing the sun on I-84. Near Ontario, Oregon, we split, he continuing west on Highway 20 to his home near Salem, me turning south on Highway 395 to my Temecula abode. To be brief, much of 395 in that part of Oregon consists of boring brush. Blah scenery. Mostly straight roads. The bike didn’t match my previous Goldwing for wind protection at 80, so music wasn’t an option. I did outline some Unconventional posts in my mind to write down that evening, like this one. But I got bored and tired and a bit sleepy.
Then…
Read MoreI’d ridden a dirtbike once, didn’t even know how to shift. Then “Easy Rider” captivated me with the freedom of the open road, so I bought a Honda 350 Scrambler with plans to head to Canada to see a college roommate. I knew nothing, and a month after the purchase I took off. An idiot. But I became a sponge, reading motorcycle mags, talking to experienced riders. And during every ride, I’d analyze what worked, what didn’t. How to set up a curve safely to do it fast. How to brake most effectively without flipping or laying down the bike. And the experts proclaimed…
Read MoreMy love for speed came early—at my age of 8, Dad got his 55 Ford Fairlane 500 V8 up to 120 in the Nevada desert, kept it between 105 and 115, and it hooked me. I’ve driven fast, a lot, and had driven several nice cars, even a race bred Lotus Elan. When living in the mountains above Taos with a full-sized Ford van, only a Z passed me.
But the Lamborghini…
Read MoreOn our early long bike tours , music played no role. Instead, we spent a lot of time in our minds: thinking, pondering, praying, questioning. A lot of major life decisions got determined to the gentle hum of the bike’s motor. Or, we’d play “Easy Rider,” set our throttle locks, stretch our arms to the side and flap them like birds, singing the tune, “If you want to be a bird.” No bird brain jokes, please. Other times, the four of us pretended slalom ski, curving between the white paint strips. Right turn, left turn, wash, rinse, and repeat. The rhythm of all four of us matching the others and creating a motorcycle serpent, held beauty brought grace.
Later…
Read MoreIn my early years, I relied on youth and vigor and a strong body. At 26 came a 31 state, 13,000-mile ride on a naked semi-chopped Honda CB750. The longest day stretched between Beaumont and El Paso, all in Texas, well over 800 miles. Stops only for gas and meals. No windshield, no cruise control, no Cramp Buster, a duffle bag serving as a minimal backrest, no highway pegs. And I loved it! Then. But I’ve picked up some new tricks along the way. Some by necessity…
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